Page 18 of Sin With Me


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The man who came from nothing, who had hit rock bottom, and clawed his way to the top and turned into a man of God. A family man. It’s a beautiful and heartbreaking tale. One I’ll never tire of listening to.

Everyone assures him they want to hear him tell it again, and he huffs out another laugh. He sets his notebook and Bible on the podium before sliding his hands into his pockets and begins pacing the stage, his eyes on the floor. Even from a distance, I can see his Adam’s apple bobbing repeatedly as though he’s swallowing down a thick lump in his throat.

“Well, I was living in Florida with the mother of my child,” he begins. My heart squeezes painfully. A crease forms between his brows, like recalling the past hurts him, and I’m sure it does. Reliving his struggle must be hard, but he’ll do it for them. This group of survivors. Warriors. “Roman, my son,” his voice tightens on the word, and my hand wraps around Mama’s pendant around my throat, “was only four.”

As I watch him pace, his lips moving to tell the story he’s told so many times before, I find myself remembering the first time I heard it and the impact it had on me. Even at such a young age, it made my soul ache.

For Isaac.

For Roman.

Even for his late mother, Camilla.

Isaac’s smile is wide as he looks around the table. I can’t contain my own as I watch him give Mama’s hand a tight squeeze. She grins so widely, so happily, her cheeks turn pink.

My stomach flips.

It’s the first real smile I’ve seen from her since Daddy.

I glance at Roman, finding him slouched in his chair, his arms folded over his chest as he glares at his bare plate. My smile drops as I rack my brain for anything that will make him smile. Make him happy.

I like when he’s happy.

I open my mouth, a joke I heard at school on the tip of my tongue, but quickly snap it shut when Mama calls out to me. “Why don’t you say grace for us, Evie?”

I swallow the ball in my throat as I turn back to her and Isaac, away from Roman. I force my face into a happy expression and nod.

“Daddy’s prayer, okay?” I murmur, shooting a nervous look toward Isaac. Mama gives me a sad smile, but it’s Isaac who responds.

Reaching across the table, he grips my small hand. “Of course, Eve. Whatever makes you happy.”

I turn to take Roman’s hand, completing our family circle because that’s what will make me happy right now. He glares at me. I roll my lip out in a pout that normally works and sure enough, he sighs loudly and takes my free hand.

“In a world where so many are hungry, may we eat this food with humble hearts. In a world where so many are lonely, may we share this friendship with joyful hearts.” I smile big, feeling closer to Daddy than I have in a while. “Amen.”

“Amen,” everyone agrees, releasing one another so Mama can dish out dinner.

Like always, she starts with Isaac, just like she did with Daddy, and I suck up the lesson like a sponge. I may only be ten-years-old, but she’s already teaching me how to be a good wife someday. A good mother.

Jumping to my feet, I reach to the center of the table, and pick up a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes before dumping it onto Roman’s plate. It splatters a bit, making me giggle.

“What the hell are you doing?” Roman hisses quietly, batting my hand away.

I ignore him, already accustomed to his sassy, grumpy ways. We’ve only been living with the Payne’s for six months, but it’s enough to understand how things go around here.

Isaac smiles and leads.

Roman grumbles and stomps.

Mama cleans and cooks, keeping the house in order.

And me? I play. I learn. I practice. Just like now.

So, instead of giving up my attempts at servitude, I pick up a fresh, warm dinner roll and butter it up for my prickly stepbrother. I drop it on his plate and move on to the chicken breasts, swapping dishes with Mama.

“Eve,” Roman grunts, loud enough to call attention from the grown ups. I pause, meeting his stare. He swallows loudly, his eyes darting from mine to Isaac’s. “I got it. Just worry about yourself.”

My brows bunch up and my chest aches. I don’t know what to do. I know what I should do. What I’m supposed to do. But I also know I’m supposed to listen, especially to the men of the house.

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